


The Fangirl and the Star

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Awkwardness, Breasts, Celebrity Crush, Conventions, Cunnilingus, Embarrassment, F/F, Fangirls, Flirting, Girls Kissing, Hotels, Kissing, Licking, Nipples, Oral Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Your favorite actress, Rowena MacLeod, has a panel in your town. You attend and get more than you bargained for when it becomes apparent Rowena has an interest in you that goes way beyond platonic.





	1. Dream a Little Daydream

Rowena MacLeod was a star.

With her TV show, The Mega Coven, having just finished its fourth season, the fifth to start filming in a few short months, and more screaming fangirls than even some of her eye candy male colleagues could account for, she was the network's most popular actress.

Short, red-haired, and just a few months shy of forty, she hardly fit The CW's popularity requirements. That had earned her plenty of criticism, some bordering on hate. People called her old and ugly, attributing her fame to the fans' lack of taste and standards. As if looks and age were everything.

You found nothing wrong with hers. With hair as red as fire and eyes as green as forests, Rowena was one one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. She had an ethereal aura about her, as if she was more than merely human. Her height — or lack thereof — only added to her appeal. Every time you saw her smile, you couldn't resist doing the same. She had one of those smiles that easily lit up every room she'd flash it in and prompted everyone else in vicinity to smile along. It was like an infection, and you gladly gave yourself over to it.

None of her physical attributes, though, could compare to the perfection that was her personality. She was incredibly kind to fans. Not a single person who'd had the pleasure of meeting her had had a bad story to tell. She treated everyone with courtesy, with dignity, with respect that they deserved, fully aware it was these people that had given her this fame she loved so much. Without them — without  _ you _ — she would still be a barely known actress starring in shitty indie films. The Mega Coven, and its immense fandom, had opened doors for her that would never close. She appreciated it to no end.

When you heard she was going to have a panel in your town, you knew right away you had to be there. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, one you couldn't miss. Your friends thought it was silly to spend so much money on a forty-minute panel, but you didn't care. They didn't understand. They could never understand how much you loved Rowena MacLeod, how much you needed to see her. You'd dreamed of it for years, daydreamed of various scenarios where she was right there in front of you, talking to you, smiling at you like you were the only person in the room, the only person that mattered.

And now she was standing only a few feet away from you, head high and proud, on a stage in front of hundreds of people laughing at her jokes, all of them wishing they were there with her. Wishing she would look at them, that she would flash them a smile meant only for them. Rowena drank the attention in like water, thirsty for more, more, more. She never grew bored of it, of the endless praise fans showered her with.

Some people hated on her for it. You, on the other hand, found it endearing. The woman knew her worth. She was owning it like the queen that she was. There was nothing wrong with that.

Earlier, right as the panel started, Rowena had held up a small, purple hex bag and announced someone special from the audience would get it. She always handed out gifts, little cosmetics or candy, depending on the occasion, wrapped up in black hex bags. She'd never given out a purple one. Everyone hoped they would be the special person she'd gift it to. You were among them, but you knew your chances were slim. Knowing your luck, you would end up saying or doing something embarrassing. Not only would Rowena not gift you the special hex bag, but she would laugh in your face and hurry back to the stage to avoid being in the presence of a joke such as yourself.

You couldn't blame her.

Maybe asking her a question wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe—

Your thoughts were cut short by the familiar clicking of heels growing louder, closer. Rowena MacLeod, in all her high heeled, businesswoman-like glory, was on her way over to you, her stroll confident, casual, tentative to everyone who didn't know her. It was her way of teasing, a small act of naughtiness she did at every panel. You'd always found it hilarious (and not to mention extremely sexy) when she walked over to some unsuspecting girl and made her flush.

Being there, right in front of her, her sly, cat-like eyes observing you like you were prey on a platter, was anything but funny.

It was, dare you say it, terrifying.

To your horror, the line had already cleared. You, and a few other girls behind you, were the only ones left to ask questions.

You would consider yourself lucky if you could remember to breathe.

"Hello," Rowena said, and you knew right then and there that you were verging the line of life and death. Her tone had that joking lilt to it you'd heard so many times on panels you'd watched on YouTube. She was in full blown teasing mode and you were her unsuspecting victim.

"Hi," you said shyly.  _ Calm down, _ you told yourself.  _ Calm down. _ Now if only your heart would listen instead of jumping like it was on speed.

"Who are you, where are you from, and what do you want?" she asked. Her usual spiel, a mock demand. It sent shivers down your spine.

"Um…" You swallowed, sucked in a breath. You could do this. "I'm Y/N, I'm from downtown, and, um, I-I'd like to ask a question."

She looked at you. "You'd like to ask a question."

The audience laughed.

Your cheeks flushed. "Yes."

She raised an eyebrow, tilted her head to the side like a curious puppy. "What if I say you can't?"

More laughter.

You blushed harder. "Um…"

Rowena grinned. She stepped forward. Got close, closer, closer. So close you found yourself unable to breathe. You wished you were as cool and collected as you were when this happened in your daydreams.

"Am I making you nervous?" she asked, knowing full well that she was, prompting the audience to laugh once again. 

This was much funnier when you were watching it on YouTube, happening to some random boy or girl. Much less terrifying. Definitely entertaining.

Being there, nervous out of your mind, shaking as if you were under a severe fever, was horrifying.

Rowena stopped a few inches away from you. She looked you up and down, those beautiful emeralds scanning every part of you, observing you like you were an artifact in a museum, strange, unique, fascinating. Her mouth was wide in a smile you didn't have in you to resist to reciprocate, infectious as ever. It never faltered, never flickered out for even a second. She was enjoying this, enjoying having this much power over you, enjoying you letting her have it without complaint.

Even if you wanted to complain, you couldn't. Your defenses were too weak to resist her.

"Hello, darling," she said teasingly.

Your heart skipped a beat, then jumped again in delight. She called you darling. God, she called you darling! If you weren't crippled by nervousness, you would have done a little dance. "Um, hi."

"The view here is nice."

"It is."

The white blouse and black dress pants it was tucked into curved around her body perfectly, accentuating her curves and leaving just enough hidden to guarantee a delicious imagination. Definitely a nice view.

Rowena smirked as if she'd read your mind, as if she knew of your darkest, most intimate desires. The thought was both terrifying and exciting.

"Are you nervous?" she prodded just because she could, because she was mean and she knew you — the audience, the fans worldwide — loved it.

"A bit," you choked. It took everything you had to force the words out somewhat coherently.

She raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, curious, smirk widening in a wicked curve. "Now, now, there is no reason to be nervous, darling." Her voice was sweet as pie, pleasant as that of her character when she was around children, but there was a hint of naughtiness behind it, lingering in the pauses between words like a particularly persistent, welcome aftertaste.

Your shuddered as the pet name slipped those ruby-red lips with practiced ease, insides melting in a rush of boiling hot lava shooting through you. Your nerves were in overdrive, firing wildly like electric sparks slithering under your skin, making you tremble, making you weak despite your best efforts to remain strong — as strong as your body allowed, for Rowena MacLeod's presence, her proximity that was a blessing and a curse all at once, made it hard for you to control yourself. It made it hard for you to  _ be _ yourself. Your body — you, all of you, heart and soul — was hers whether she wanted it or not.

"I'm not that scary, am I?" Rowena asked with a chuckle. She looked out at the audience and spoke loudly into the microphone, "What do you think, folks? Am I scary?"

The answers varied; most were joking yesses, plenty of a bits, and a few noes that sounded quite sarcastic.

Rowena scrunched up her nose adorably, a gesture that always made you melt when you saw it on screen. Even naughty and mean, was too cute for words. "I'm scary?" she said, laughing. Her lower lip popped out in a pout that somehow managed to be even more adorable than the scrunch. "So rude. I've got quite a rude audience today."

A chuckle escaped you as the audience laughed.

"Mean. All of you," Rowena said in that same teasing tone. She looked back to you. "You don't think I'm scary, do you?"

You didn't have the heart to tell her she was more terrifying than Pennywise. "Maybe."

An overly dramatic expression settled on her face. "I had faith in you!" she exclaimed, tone matching her look. It elicited snickers from the audience. "You broke my heart."

"I'm sorry," you squeaked.

"You should be sorry!" Then, inching closer and voice softening, she said, "It's okay. I forgive you. You seem like a good girl."

_ Good girl. _

Another term from your daydreams, though that one happened to be spoken under slightly different, more private occasions. Even still, your pussy throbbed, slick with want, heat pooling between your legs like liquid hearth.

Not knowing what else to say, you uttered, "Thank you."

Rowena flashed you her brightest smile. "I know you."

"You do?" you inquired, happy for the change of subject.

She nodded. "You're that girl from Twitter."

_ Oh, shit! _

_ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! _

The topic of her being scary suddenly didn't seem so bad.

"Um…" you squeaked out. Your go-to word today, it seemed.

"You send me pictures quite frequently," she said. When the audience roared with laughter, she said, in a mock-shocked tone, "Not  _ those _ kinds of pictures! Naughty lot, you are! My goodness." That only prompted more laughter.

You wished the earth beneath your feet would open up and swallow you whole. You wished you could disappear. You wished for anything, anything, just to be away from all this. Away from the embarrassment, from the flush that turned your cheeks boiling hot, from the tremble of your limbs. It was a miracle you managed to remain on your feet, for your knees had turned to jelly, bones liquified, useless. If you were to make one step, one teeny-tiny step, you would collapse like a bag of potatoes.

"You're quite good with image editing," Rowena said.

"T-thank you," you said timidly. There were plenty of fanartists better than you, but you were happy she liked your work. Happy that she  _ recognized _ it, recognized  _ you _ amongst all those people.

"You're very creative," she said.

"Thank you," you said again. She'd liked your fanart on Twitter quite frequently, but it was nothing in comparison to her praising you in person, in front of hundreds of entertained (and quite possibly envious, at least some of them) people. The petty joy of social media likes couldn't compare to the explosions rummaging your body from the inside as you absorbed her words like a sponge, collected them in a little box in your mind for safekeeping, to replay them later, to savor them like a comfort meal.

"Just being honest, dear," Rowena said with a wink. Another daydream moment made real, another burst of heat and electricity shooting through you. It was as if she was on a mission to destroy you from the inside, to rid you of all sanity and coherence and render you a puppet, strings tight in her hands. "I found you on Tumblr, as well."

She might have as well pulled a gun and shot you right between the eyes. "Um…"

"Aye," she said with a grin, a teasing glint sparkling in her eyes. "I found a wee story — or several."

_ Kill me now, _ you thought.  _ Get a gun or a knife or a crowbar and get it over with. _ "I write sometimes," you said shyly.

"You write a lot," she said. The audience seemed interested, some people oohing. No doubt a lot of them had read your stories.

"It's fun."

"Och, I bet it is! Such intricate plots, such attention to detail. You might as well be a professional."

Your heart stopped. "You've read them?"

_ Please, say no! _

"Oh, aye! I've read every single one," Rowena said delightedly.

_ Shit, shit, shit! _

"I'm sorry," you squeaked.

She tilted her head sideways like a curious puppy. "Why are you sorry? I quite enjoyed them."

That was exactly what you were sorry for. That she'd discovered them. That she'd read them. That she'd  _ liked _ them. Those fanfictions were meant for you, for fans with interests similar to your own. Rowena was never supposed to find them. She was never supposed to  _ read _ them, let alone comment on them straight to your face. You suddenly felt naked, bare, exposed to hundreds of people. Exposed to  _ her, _ all your deepest, darkest needs out in the open, an open book for her to read to her heart's desire.

"I…" you muttered. "I didn't…"  _ I didn't intend for you to find them. _

As if she'd read your mind, Rowena said, "There's no need to be ashamed, dear. We've all got our hobbies. Besides, I think you've done a marvelous job with Ruth."

Ruth was her character. A funny, quirky Scottish witch that liked to tease and flirt and cause mischief. Basically Rowena if she were a fictional character.

You couldn't have gotten a better compliment. "Thank you."

"Though some of the situations you've put her in were quite strange," she said and winked conspiratorially. Another tease, another challenge. Another rain of hot shivers bubbling up in the back of your neck and spilling down your spine. "Or, should I say, naughty?"

You swallowed, hard, throat constricting dangerously tight as if someone had grabbed it and wouldn't let go.

"I don't mean it in a bad way, of course," she said sweetly. Of course. She would never. "I'm very impressed with your…  _ skill." _ She last word slid off her tongue in a purr that made your pussy drip with need.

It should have been illegal for her to do that.

It should have been illegal for her, so sexy, so naughty, so teasy, to exist.

"I've had practice," you said.

"I bet you have," Rowena said. It was an accusation, one of humor rather than malice. Yet another display of teasing, another provocation made for no other reason than to rile you up. To show you she was in charge, and that she wanted you at her mercy, weak and desperate.

Mission accomplished.

"I bet you've had lots of practice," she purred. The sound, delicious, exotic, sent another wave of pulsating pleasure through your pussy, pressure building up, edging explosion. You wished you were back home, or in a bathroom, or anywhere else private and preferably away from her to relieve it.

Rowena's presence was dangerous. As much as you wished to never be apart from her again, to have her for your own, to  _ own _ her, you also wished to be somewhere far away and alone to take care of the problem she'd caused. She affected you more than anyone ever had. The woman oozed power from her every pore, radiated with dominance and confidence, and owned it like a queen. She could have anything —  _ anyone — _ she set her eyes on. All she had to do was want it.

Against all odds, out of millions of people to choose from, millions of willing volunteers ready to throw themselves at her feet like slaves, she seemed to have wanted you.

A chuckle escaped you at the thought, the possibility instantly dismissed. There was no way she wanted you. Absolutely no way. There were much more beautiful girls in the audience, much more handsome, much more worthy of someone like her. She wouldn't go for a zero when she could get a one hundred.

Why was she acting like this, then? Why was she flirting? Rowena had occasionally engaged in flirtation with fans, but never to this extent. Never this directly. Her words may not have said it, but her mannerisms, her body language, her smiles and laughs and the tone of her voice certainly did. She was flirting obviously enough that even a clueless idiot like you would notice it.

It made no sense. Why? What made you different from everyone else?

"I did," you sad with a tinge of pride. She'd already read your fanfiction; the damage was done. The least you could do was own it.

"Practice makes perfect," Rowena said.

"Totally."

"Don't you ever stop." You looked at her, surprised, startled. She gave you a smile that reminded you of a sunset, warm and friendly, genuine, sweet. "You're a marvelous writer, Y/N. Keep honing your gift."

Hundreds of different thoughts swirled in your mind like a tornado, words all jumbled together in an indistinguishable mass. There was only one thought you could make up clearly, one thought that seemed more important than the rest.

She remembered your name.

She remembered it, and, dear god, it sounded so good rolling off her tongue. A short, sweet melody you could never tire of listening. You wanted her to say your name over and over, wanted her to purr it, wanted her to claim it. Wanted her to claim  _ you. _

"I-I will," you stammered. "Thank you, Rowena."

She flashed you a thousand watt smile, one of those infectious ones you had no choice but to replicate. "My pleasure, dear. Now, what did you want to ask me?"

Oh, right. You were here to ask her a question. You almost forgot.

"Um…"

After all that had happened, you weren't sure you wanted to ask her. She had already kind of answered it. You suddenly felt stupid and mentally cursed yourself for not preparing a backup question.

Rowena looked at you expectedly. "Yes?"

_ Well, _ you thought,  _ here we go. _ There was no getting out of it. "I wanted to ask, what are your thoughts on fanworks? I-I know you often like and share stuff on social media, but do you support it, in general? Are there things you don't support?"

"I totally support it," she said without missing a beat. It was an automatic response, swift, confident. "I'm so grateful to everyone who makes fan content. So many talented people. When I first got cast in The Mega Coven, I never thought it would gather such support. The fans — all of you fine folk — are amazing. I must be doing something right if so many of you are willing to make art of it."

This prompted the audience to chuckle.

Rowena let out a chuckle of her own. "I support it all," she said. "Drawings, writings, videos — all are near and dear to my heart, and it's all thanks to you. There isn't a single thing I've come across and disliked. Such creativity, such diversity of ideas… it's incredible. I feel blessed."

The audience clapped, joyous, happy. You clapped along; it wasn't every day that your favorite actress, your crush, publicly expressed her support of your work.

"Thank you for your question," Rowena said once the commotion died down. "Let me get your gift."

She returned to the stage and your stomach turned with an army of butterflies flying in circles in it, fluttering madly. You wondered what your hex bag would contain. A chocolate bar? A lotion? Makeup? Anything would do; you weren't picky, especially when it came to her. She could gift you with a rock and you would be the happiest girl in the world.

Rowena was back rather fast, heels clicking as she walked. The sound was endearing, somewhat. It was hers, and you loved it for it. Everything hers you loved.

"Here you go, dear," she said happily.

You looked down at her hands and your heart stopped dead in its tracks.

Clutched in the palm of her right hand, her tiny fingers wrapped around it, was a purple hex bag.

_ The _ purple hex bag.

"You-you're giving it to me?" you asked in disbelief. This had to have been a joke. There was no way you were the kind of special who deserved it.

Rowena, though, seemed to think you were. "Aye," she said with the same conviction one would have saying that grass was green and the sky was blue. "It's yours."

"Oh, my god," you muttered.

She laughed lightly. "I said I'd give it to someone special, didn't I?"

The audience cheered.

You wanted to die and do a little dance of joy at the same time. "Me?"

She shrugged, nonchalant. "Why not?"

She pressed the hex bag into your hands. The brief physical contact sent electricity through you. You wrapped your fingers around the soft material, relishing in the feeling. It was yours. She considered you special, considered you worthy of it. Not even your daydreams had ever conjured up something like this.

Rowena lowered her microphone and leaned forwards, so close you could feel her fresh, icy breath on your neck. She smelled sweet, of flowers and meadows in Spring. "Word of advice," she whispered only for your ears to hear, "open it somewhere private."

You stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. She kept smiling pleasantly, unfazed. Then her arms opened wide and before you could process what was happening, her body was pressed against yours in a tight embrace.

Your body went into overdrive, nerves firing, electricity sparkling, heat swallowing you whole bit by bit. The sensations were overwhelming; you found yourself shaking, limbs numb, legs barely holding you upright.

Rowena MacLeod was hugging you.

She never hugged anyone, and she was hugging you.

_ Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. _

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening.

Yet it was — it did — and, despite the overall shock of it all, it felt so fucking good.

Closing your eyes, you used your last remnants of strength to return the hug. She was incredibly small in your arms, seemingly frail, but you knew better. The woman was a powerhouse. That tiny body held more strength than you ever could.

It almost hurt to part from her. It almost hurt to go back to your seat and watch as the few remaining girls asked their questions and tossed banter with her. It almost hurt to hear the announcement that the panel was over, and to see Rowena walk out the door, to see her back and then the empty stage, as if she'd never been there, as if the past forty minutes were an illusion.

Turned on and on your wit's end, you rushed to the nearest bathroom. You locked the stall tight and leaned against the door. Your breathing was still rushed, still ragged. Rowena was a hard woman to forget. Once she afflicted you, she stayed with you. You couldn't shake her, even if you wanted to.

Holding the little hex bag up, you gently opened it, careful not to damage it, and peeked inside. It was empty save for a piece of paper. Frowning in confusion, you took it out and unfolded it.

On it, in the neatest handwriting you'd ever seen, was written:

_ I'm in hotel Allure, room 42. If you're so inclined, come join me tonight. Seven o'clock sharp. I'll be waiting. Rx _

The first thing you did was mutter "Holy shit" under your breath.

Then you started screaming, incessant, relentless, the sharp, piercing sound tearing from your mouth until you ran out of breath and, panting, fell to your knees, legs stinging from slamming into the clear, white tiles.

Who said daydreams couldn't come true?


	2. If This Was a Fanfiction

You had just enough time to take a quick shower, throw on fresh, clean clothes, and run out the door in a hurry before the clock struck seven. You didn't even eat lunch, and, strangely enough, you didn't feel hungry. Food seemed to be of no importance. Your stomach was empty, but instead of churning with hunger it fluttered with thousands of butterflies batting their little wings, a swarm of pleasant vibrations that still, even hours later, made you tremble.

Rowena MacLeod, the star of The CW's highest rated show, the superstar of your daydreams, was waiting at you at her hotel.

It still seemed unreal, unnatural, more like a fantasy than reality. You'd pinched yourself a few times throughout the day just to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It was as real as the moon hanging in the sky, full and bright, lighting up the streets you walked on your way to your meeting place.

Hotel Allure towered over all other buildings in its vicinity. Huge and white, it almost glowed in the dark. It looked like one of the hotels Ruth, Rowena's character, would stay in and use magic to get out of paying for it. It certainly was pricey. You didn't have to look at the price tag to know that. Its grandiose interior, and lush, rich exterior, proved it.

You gave Rowena's room's door a tentative knock. Your heart beat wildly as if in a race, guaranteed to win it even at the price of your death. Despite your best efforts to remain calm and collected, you were shaking. Shivers bubbled up over your skin, hairs standing straight and sharp like needles. The back of your neck was on fire, nervous tingles spilling down your back in a cascade of lava, boiling you from the inside bit by bit, cell by cell, nerve by nerve.

This couldn't be real. It just couldn't. Yet it was, and Rowena was right there behind that polished white door, and you didn't know how to process that. You'd had hours, and you still hadn't found a way to put everything in perspective, to get yourself to accept the reality that felt more like a daydream than any daydream you'd ever conjured up. Rowena had chosen you. She'd openly flirted with you and had eventually invited you over to her hotel room. Those were facts.

Or maybe you'd fainted before you'd gotten to say that first "Hi" and all of this was a very realistic lucid dream, and instead of in Rowena's hotel you were sprawled on a hospital bed, drooling on a pillow while your friends and family were in the process of losing their minds with worry in an overcrowded, smelly waiting room.

The door opened, and with it your thoughts shattered like glass, returning you back to the reality that was very much real. Rowena stood by the door. She was clad in a dress that was so red that it might have been made of blood. The fabric looked soft, and hugged her every curve perfectly, as if it was molded to the shape of her body. Thick, curly locks of hair fell over her shoulders like crimson waterfalls. Her lips were a darker red, blood that had dried, and the matching polish adorned her long nails, painted fresh, clean, flawless. She looked mesmerizing.

You, on the other hand, looked as if you'd thrown on the first pieces of clothing you could get your hands on and left the house in a hurry without even looking yourself in the mirror.

"I knew you would come," Rowena said. Her voice matched her look; classy, regal, that delicious accent thick in every word.

This was an opportunity of a lifetime. Who wouldn't come? You blushed as if someone had spilled boiling water in your face. "Hi, Rowena," you said shyly, like a good, honest girl.

Good, honest girls didn't meet with strangers for offers of one night stands.

Screw them, you decided. Like Rowena's character had said in season one, nice girls were pathetic. Here was to evil skanks!

Rowena flashed you her thousand watt smile that made you melt. "Hello, darling," she said sweetly, genuinely, as if this was just a normal friendly visit.

Maybe for her it was. For you it was anything but.

"Come on it."

She stepped aside, movements graceful as that of a dancer, and opened the door wide. Wrapping your arms around yourself nervously, you walked in. The room was as fancy as the rest of the hotel, furniture polished, antique yet new-looking, paintings of artists unknown adorning the spotless white walls. A queen-sized bed stood by the wall; you eyed it cautiously, took in the silky sheets the same color as Rowena's lipstick, and blushed harder. Was this where it would happen? Would it happen at all?

"You like?" Rowena asked, noticing your stare.

You flinched as if she'd pinched you. "Yeah. It's a beautiful room." Beautiful was an understatement. There were no words to truly describe the beauty, the sheer elegance of it. It fit a queen like Rowena perfectly. Whoever had booked it knew her well.

"My favourite part is the bed," she said, a meaningful smile spreading over her mouth. "And the bath, of course."

You felt as if you'd spontaneously combusted, so close to death's door. This woman would be the end of you. "It's really pretty," you said shyly. An image of you wrapped up in those crimson sheets and Rowena's pale arms and legs flashed in your mind for a brief moment. You shook it away. It was too early for that. Maybe you'd gotten this all wrong. Maybe she didn't want to sleep with you after all.

If that was the case, why would she invite you over? Why would she flirt with you? Why would she dress up the way you'd often had Ruth dress up in your fanfictions, complete with red nails you found incredibly hot, and give you that smile that suggested more than any words ever could?

"Come sit." Rowena motioned for the bed, that smile never leaving her mouth. Small but brilliant. Secretive yet open like a book.

You did as she asked. The bed was soft. You could imagine yourself lying in it, sleeping in it tangled in her arms as her heart slowly beat against your ear like a lullaby. Rowena had already slept in it. The realization made your heart skip a beat. You were sitting on a place she'd slept, a place where she was most vulnerable. A place where you would most likely lie very, very soon. You wondered if the sheets smelled like her. If, if the two of you ended up having sex, you would smell like her. You hoped so.

"Would you like anything?" Rowena asked. "Water? Juice? Wine?"

"A glass of water, please." Your mouth felt as if stuffed with cotton. You needed relief.

"Coming right up."

She handed you your water, in her hand a glass half-filled with burgundy liquid. You gulped down half the glass. She slowly sipped her wine, taking you in, watching you like a predator carefully observing their prey in search of weaknesses. Ready to strike at any given opportunity.

"I'm really glad you came, Y/N," Rowena said, breaking the short silence that had befallen you.

"I-me, too," you muttered. Not many would miss an opportunity like this.

She grinned. "Tonight is going to be so much fun."

A new rush of heat swept over you, burned at your cheeks like a hard slap. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Rowena said happily. "Anything you want." She winked and purred, _"Anything."_

Expect her to be naughty. You took a breath for courage. "Do you always invite strangers to your hotel room?"

"No," she said, and her tone screamed honesty. She wasn't lying. "Just you."

This piqued your interest. "Why me?"

"Because you're special."

"How so?" What made you more special than all the other girls and boys who adored her just as much, if not more?

Rowena sighed. "You seem like such a dedicated fan. Your art and stories are wonderful. And the posts you make... You really know how to make a girl feel wanted."

Posts?

_Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god._

The posts! She'd seen the posts. It made sense; she'd discovered your Tumblr, and it was only natural that she'd browsed it. And, in the process, had come across the posts you'd made about her. Objectifying her. Talking about what you wanted to do to her, what you wished she'd do to you. Pouring your heart out, all your fantasies out in the open behind the protection of anonymity and far away from her. Or so you'd thought.

Your throat tightened as if someone had squeezed it. You took a sip of water. "I'm sorry," you said quietly.

"Don't be," Rowena said, and she meant it. "We've all got our fantasies."

True, but usually the object of said fantasies didn't stand in front of you and watched you like you were a fancy meal on a platter.

"You seemed so invested in me," she continued. "I wanted to meet you, but we never happened to be in the same state." She made a face of distaste. "This country is awfully large. Then I saw you talk about going to my panel, and I finally had my chance."

You felt as if you'd just been hit by a truck. Rowena wanted to meet you. Despite all the inappropriate things you'd written about her, about her character, she wanted to meet you. It took all you self-control to keep a scream from tearing free. She had really chosen you. Out of thousands of people, she had chosen you.

"The purple hex bag was a nice idea, don't you think?" she asked.

You nodded. Nice idea, indeed. Very sneaky. Very her. "Why?"

"You're a fascinating girl, Y/N.," she said honestly. "I wanted to see what you were like behind the screen name."

"By inviting me over for sex?" you blurted out.

"By giving you my room number," she corrected. "What _happens_ is entirely up to you. We can talk. We can dine. We can pretend this never happened and go our separate ways. Or we can have sex. It's your choice."

You gulped. "My choice?"

Rowena laughed. "Did you think I was going to force you? I can assure you, my dear, I've never done such a thing, and I don't plan on starting now."

Your cheeks flushed, this time from embarrassment. She wouldn't hurt you. She was practically a stranger, but you knew you were safe with her. Yes, she was intimidating, and yes, being around her made you feel like she had more control over your body than you, but she wasn't a threat. She didn't feel like a threat.

A threat to your sanity, perhaps, but not to your safety.

"I didn't mean it like that," you said timidly.

"I know, dear." A chuckle slipped free from her ruby lips, a perfect match to the teasing in her tone. She liked to play games, liked to rile you up, push limits just to see how much you could take. She liked to drive you to the edge and look over to see if you would fall.

"Um, I…" What were you going to say? You weren't sure. Other than her being here and driving you insane, you weren't sure of anything anymore.

Rowena cocked her head to the side, beckoning for you to continue. "Yes?"

"I'd like to stay." You had to force the words out, throat tight and dry as if stuffed with cotton. You sipped on your water to relieve the pressure, but it didn't do much. "Here. With you."

Her face lit up. "It pleases me immensely to hear that."

You wanted to please her very immensely. You didn't dare say it out loud.

"So," she said, "what would you like to do?"

 _Kill me now!_ "Um…"

"There's plenty of _activities_ we can engage in," she said, suggestion clear in her tone. She raised an eyebrow. "Or are you interested in one particular activity?"

You wanted to disappear off the face of the earth and never be seen again. "I am," you said in a voice that was supposed to be confident but ended up coming out as a squeak much alike that of an appliance in need of severe oiling.

Rowena laughed heartily, with the same confidence you lacked. "Of course you are! You're a girl who knows what she wants, aren't you?"

"I suppose."

"We're not so different, you and I," she said.

You looked up at her, curious. "How so?"

"We both know what we want, and we take it no matter what."

"I don't know about that," you said shyly. "Wanting, sure, but I don't think I'm all that good at taking."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but…" But you'd only taken advantage of the opportunity she'd laid out in front of you. It was as much taking what you wanted as it was accepting a desired but unrequested present.

"But nothing," Rowena said. She finished her wine and set her glass aside, her eyes, so big, so green, so cat-like you, for a second, wondered if they glowed in the dark, burning into yours with the intensity of a thousand fires. You felt small under her gaze, vulnerable, exposed. She seemed to sense it, and it amused her to no end. It wasn't just her eyes that were reminiscent of a cat's — all of her was. And you were the mouse, captured, wounded, helpless in your attempts to get away for she was in power, she was in control, and she was too hungry to let you escape. But first she wanted to play.

The only difference was, you wanted to play, too. You were just too much of a coward to make the first move.

Luckily for you, you didn't have to. Rowena walked over to you, stroll slow, careful, confident just like back on the stage a few hours ago. You looked her over as she stopped, took her in in all her regal glory. She was a statue of red, elegant, beautiful, the finest work of art you'd ever laid your eyes on. The flowery scent followed her every move, radiated off her; you breathed it in, made a note to sear it into your brain. You never wanted to forget it. You never wanted to forget _her._

"Go on, love," she purred deliciously, sending your body into overdrive, "take it."

It took you a few seconds to regain your composure. "W-what?"

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Her perfectly manicured red fingernail trailed from her breasts down to her stomach. "What you've always wanted?"

You gulped. "I-yes." It came out as a whisper, but she heard it and smiled.

"Then take it. It's yours." She brought a hand to your cheek and stroked it, cupped it with utmost tenderness. You shivered at the touch, then leaned into it, savoring the sensation. "What was it you said in one of your posts? What did you want to do to me?"

Talking about it was one thing. Doing it was something completely different. Besides, it was just a fantasy. You never thought you'd get a chance to act on it with the woman herself.

"You can do it," Rowena continued. "That and so much more. Tonight, I'm all yours, darling."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, spilled through your body like poison. Could you really do it? Would she really let you touch her like that, let you take control?

"Are you sure?" you asked.

"Aye," she replied. "This is your night. You make all the rules."

No pressure or anything.

"Don't be shy," she said, noticing your confliction. She leaned down, nose almost touching yours, cheek brushing against yours, and whispered, "If this was a fanfiction, what would you do?"

You willed yourself to meet her eyes. There was confidence in them, that same challenge that always seemed to be there. _Do it,_ it said. _Take me._ She wanted it, wanted _you_ just as much as you wanted her. Wanted you to take the first step, to make the first move, to do with her as you pleased just like in your fanfictions. Just like in your deepest, most private fantasies.

You stood up. Your legs were trembling, but they managed to keep you upright without an issue. Taking a deep breath for courage, you laid your hands on Rowena's shoulders. The fabric of her dress was soft underneath your fingers, tender, finest silk indeed. You slowly slid your hands down her arms, then ran them back up, taking her in, feeling her, absorbing her.

Rowena's eyes followed your movements like a hawk, an amused smile flickering on her mouth. You ignored her, focusing solely on exploring her. You leaned forwards, praying to all deities you could think of to remain in one piece, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The contact sent shockwaves through your mouth, spreading all over your body like a very potent poison. Her skin was impossibly soft, softer than the fabric of her dress, delicate, gentle.

"You're so soft," you blurted the thoughts out loud.

Rowena smiled, coy and seductive. "And you're precious."

You blushed at the compliment. Your eyes fell to her mouth, slightly parted and swollen. Your lips itched to kiss it; you licked them, bit the bottom one for a second, contemplating whether to go for it. Usually, in your daydreams, Rowena was the one to make the first move.

But this wasn't a daydream, you thought with a sudden rush of confidence, and Rowena had given you the go-ahead.

Willing all doubt and fear away, you pressed your lips to hers. She returned the kiss right away, deepened it, trapped you in it. Your mouth felt like it was on fire, heat bubbling up in places she touched, in places she marked and claimed and took as if they were hers. You kissed back ferociously, reclaimed control. She let you, gave herself away to your will, to your mercy. Fireworks of pleasure exploded in you as you explored her mouth. She tasted sweet and fresh, honey and mint, flowers and morning air, and once again you were reminded of sunlit meadows filled with crickets and bees, with birds chirping happily in the distance, announcing the rebirth of nature, its glorious awakening.

What awakened within you was a new rush of heat, this one pooling down in your belly, sinking lower, lower, almost reaching your most sensitive place. You pressed your thighs together, itching for friction. Itching for Rowena to give it to you, the ultimate present. The mere thought of it sent your pussy into a throbbing fit, slick drenching your panties.

"God," you breathed, parting to inhale a breath, or several. Rowena gave a small laugh, cocky as ever, a wordless tease. You shot her a look that was supposed to be menacing, but, going by the face she made in response, ended up making you look like a hissing kitten. "Is rough okay?"

"It's more than okay," she said, then purred in that way that made your pussy drip harder, "Your night, remember?"

"Good."

You shoved her on the bed a tad more roughly than intended, a punishment for her misbehavior. Rowena let out a small gasp, surprised. Then she chuckled and, tilting her head up, shot you a look that was equal parts challenging and defiant. _Do your worst,_ it said. You certainly intended to try.

You straddled her. She looked so small underneath you, so fragile. A book with a cover that wasn't to be trusted. You kissed her again, urging another surge of delight to overcome you. You never wanted to stop kissing her, never wanted to be away from her again. She was like a drug; tasty, delicious, addictive. And just like a drug, you never wanted to give her up. You, all of you, wanted her, craved her, needed her like air. She was essential to your survival. You had to have her. She had to be yours.

"Hungry, aren't you?" Rowena teased.

She had no idea. You broke the kiss, sucked in deep breaths to get your thoughts in order, then, straightening up, looked her over. She was beautiful. So, so beautiful. And tonight she was all yours. Your fingers twisted in the neckline of her dress, knuckles brushing against her breasts. "Can I rip it?"

She giggled delightedly. "You can do anything you want. _Anything."_

The last word came out as a whisper, a seductive little taunt. You shivered at the prospect. Ripping off clothes was a common trope in fanfiction. You never imagined you would get a chance to do it in real life.

You never imagined you would get a chance to have sex with Rowena MacLeod in real life.

Sometimes, wishes did come true.

Looking Rowena over one last time to savor the view, you gave the fabric a tight, sharp tug. The dress tore in the middle, down the length of her body. You barely suppressed a gasp as a sea of pale, freckled flesh emerged from the cocoon of red. She was even more beautiful uncovered. You helped her wiggle out of the remnants of her dress and tossed the ruined thing aside, then glued your eyes back to her body. A blood-red lacy bra hid her small, supple breasts. She wore a matching pair of panties, and equally red pumps with heels so thin and sharp they could be used as weapons.

"Like what you see?" Rowena asked.

"Love," you corrected, eliciting a laugh. More than loved. Adored. You hoped the memory of her like this, pale and exposed and yours, would never fade from your mind.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Well, aren't you fishing for compliments."

"I would never!" she said dramatically.

Of course not. You laughed. "You're fucking perfect."

She raised an eyebrow. "Somebody's confident."

You blushed, shyness returning with a vengeance. "Just being honest."

"I like that in a woman."

God, you hoped so. You hoped you — what you were doing to her — were what she liked in a woman.

Feeling overdressed, your clothes suddenly tight and glued to your body like a second skin, you reached to remove your shirt. You stopped midway through, nervous, self-conscious. Your body was way, way less perfect than Rowena's. What if she didn't like it? What if the mere sight of your bare flesh disgusted her, made her laugh out loud and cruel and shove you off like a piece of trash, finding you undeserving to touch the perfection that was her?

One look from her told you that wouldn't happen. There was understanding in her eyes, anticipation, encouragement. She wanted to see you, the real you. Wanted to feel your bare, imperfect body against her own. Wanted to take you in the same way you did her. She gave a small nod, a wordless go ahead. You returned it and threw your shirt over your head. Her smile widened at the sight of you, genuinely amazed.

"You're beautiful, darling," she said, soaking your bare form in like a sponge, searing it into her mind.

"T-thank you," you muttered.

You quickly got rid of your shoes and pants and faced her again, seeking more approval, more praise. You got it in the form of a grin.

"Beautiful," she said again. The word rang true in your mind, the first time you'd ever accepted a compliment as fact. You knew hers was genuine. Even though your body lacked her glamor, even though your clothes were cheap and your underwear was mismatched and your legs weren't as smooth and soft as hers, she wanted you all the same. Craved you. Yearned for you. "Get rid of this, would you? I want to see you."

You trailed the path of her gaze to your bra and blushed. Breathing in for courage, you tossed the offending garment away, exposing your breasts.

"Just beautiful," Rowena said for the third time, watching you, your breasts, your entire body, in awe. "My, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

"Glad you like."

"Love," she spoke your words back to you, a perfect, delicious echo.

"Let's see you, too, shall we?"

You didn't wait for a response, tearing her bra open and tossing it over your shoulder. Her breasts were small, a perfect fit for your hands. You brought your palms to them, clasped them over them, massaged the warm mounds of flesh. Rowena gasped underneath you, overwhelmed with the sensations. Weak to your touch, bare to your mercy. It was a wonderful sight.

Her nipples were hard as marble. You took them between your fingers, twisted them, eliciting another pleasured gasp.

"That's it, darling," she moaned, arching her back, pushing her breasts firmly against your hands.

"You like that?"

"Mhhm."

A tinge of pride, of accomplishment, bloomed up in your chest at the confirmation. You twisted her nipples again, gave her breasts one final squeeze, then settled lower. Your finger traced an invisible line down her body, sliding from her left breast to the hem of her panties. It stopped abruptly, froze in place along with the rest of your body.

You were so close. So close to the most intimate part of her. So close to making your daydreams come true. A sudden rush of panic welled up in your chest, hot and suffocating. What if you weren't good enough? Why it you couldn't pleasure her the way she wanted, the way she deserved? What if you didn't know how?

One look at Rowena's blissful face chased all your doubts away.

You could do this. She wouldn't have chosen you if you couldn't, wouldn't have given you this chance. She trusted you.

You wouldn't disappoint her.

You ripped the panties off and discarded them along with the rest of her garments. Her pussy was smooth and pale as the rest of her. Beautiful. Enticing. Inviting.  You brought a finger to it, slid it down to rest along the tip of her clit. Rowena flinched, a breathy moan breaking from her mouth.

"Girl," she warned.

You had to smirk. "What?"

"Don't tease."

Feeling spiteful, you pressed your finger harder into her clit, then curled it against it, touch equal parts rough and welcoming. She let out a hiss, pained, wanton. A glare settled in her eyes.

You couldn't hold back a laugh. "Not so fun being teased, is it?" Now she knew how you — how thousands of her fans all over the world — felt.

"Mean," she whined.

"You deserve it."

She contemplated it for a moment, then a small smile grazed her mouth. "I suppose I do."

"Now who's teasing?" you asked.

"Still you."

"Sure." You made a circular motion against her clit, then another, and another, each earning a hiss.

"Don't start what you won't finish," she warned in-between moans.

"Who says I won't finish it?"

Quite contrary — you were looking forwards to finishing it.

You cupped her pussy in your hand and slid your middle finger into it, rubbed it against it. She was hot, wet, slick with want, with anticipation. You grinned.

"You're soaking."

Gulping, Rowena shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I'm a woman. I have needs."

"You're a _desperate_ woman," you told her.

"Perhaps," she allowed. The smirk was back on her mouth, naughty and daring. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Things."

She snorted, and you rolled your eyes in response.

"Those things had better be good."

"Or what?"

"Payback's a bitch, dear."

"Exactly my point," you whispered and pressed a finger to her clit again, forcing her body to twitch underneath you. You had to laugh. It felt good to be the one in power.

"Lass!" she hissed.

You ignored her, settling between her legs. Her pussy was **on** full display, beautiful and wet, an exquisite artwork in a gallery. You got to work right away, spreading her legs wide as you dove for her mound of heat. You licked and sucked, explored, devoured, gave in to all your cravings, set them free as you roamed her pussy. She was delicious, salty and sweet and everything nice. You sucked up her juices, licked her clean, mouth burning with hunger. You wanted more, more, more, and as you worked, you got it on a silver platter.

Rowena was a mess of gasps and moans. She writhed underneath you, shook and trembled, body lost to sensations. You held her in place by her thighs, fingers sinking into the delicate flesh. There was a scar on her right inner thigh; you traced the perfect little imperfection, seared its shape into your brain, never to forget it again.

It wasn't long before her orgasm hit. Slick spilled down in a heated explosion, happy, pleasured screams tearing free from her mouth. She was a vocal lover, and you loved it, loved every screech she let free and tremble of her out-of-control body. You did this to her. You made her weak. You made her want you. The thought was exciting.

You lapped up all juices she gave you, slowly working her through the high, helping her come down from it. She was panting, gasping for breaths that were never enough, that never satisfied her lungs. She was so weak. So fragile. So defenseless. You crawled up and kissed her, sharing her juices. She took you in, brought a trembling hand to the back of your head to bring you closer, to press your mouth harder against hers.

You plopped down on the bed beside her as you parted, worked up, tired. "You okay?"

"Never been better," she said in-between deep breaths. Tilting her head sideways, she looked you in the eyes with admiration. "You were wonderful, Y/N."

Heat prickled at your cheeks. "I tried."

"You more than tried," she insisted. "I expected you to be skilled, but this… Darling, you're a professional!"

"Not really," you said, desperately trying to hide your embarrassment. "I'm not really experienced." Most of your knowledge about sex came from fanfiction. Some of which you'd written yourself, following the other writers' examples. "I just got lucky, I guess."

"If you say so," Rowena said with a roll of her eyes. "And for the record, if anyone got lucky, if was me." The cocky smile was back.

You responded with one of your own.

Suddenly, Rowena rose up and swung a leg over you, straddling you. Her hands squeezed your wrists, pinning them to the bed around your head. "My turn," she said when you gave her a strange look.

Oh, right. Amidst the ruckus of emotions, you almost forgot.

She kissed you, lips trailing from your mouth and down to your neck. A wet, burning trail remained in their wake, searing into your skin like a permanent scar. She kissed and nibbled all over your neck, claiming you, marking you, making it loud and clear she was in charge now and you, all of you, body and heart and mind, belonged to her. Your skin singed wherever she touched, a promise of bruises, red and purple and hers, to blossom later on.

Rowena's hands found your breasts, squeezed them, kneaded them. Her mouth fell atop each erect nipple, sucking and biting, making you scream out in need.

"You taste so good," she commented.

Her tongue slid down your body, all the way over to your belly. Wet saliva glistened on your skin, burning like acid.

"So good."

She slid your panties down your legs, sparing them a quick look before throwing them away, a naughty smirk playing on her mouth.

"Someone's eager," she teased. "Or shall I say desperate?"

"Guilty," you breathed.

"Oh, I know, darling."

She lowered her mouth to your pussy, kissed it hard, hungry. A shout escaped you before you could try to stop it, the sensation overwhelming, too hard to resist. You kicked your legs, and Rowena's hands were quickly on them, pinning them down with ease.

"Good girl," she cooed. "You're a good girl, aren't you?"

"I don't know," you said honestly.

"You are," Rowena said. "My good, sweet girl."

Her tongue was on you, inside you, roaming you from the inside out, exploring every bit of you, every fold, every little bundle of nerves. You gripped the sheets so hard your knuckles hurt, desperate for balance, for something to keep you grounded. Rowena's mouth was magic. She took your clit into it, sucked on it, gently bit down, eliciting another scream. Your insides were on fire, heat in your belly sliding lower, dangerously lower, begging for release.

"Yes," you gasped.

She worked your clit harder, twisted her tongue around it, pressed it into it. You were at her mercy, completely hers, a puppet dependant on her to pull the right strings.

She did, and soon a surge of pleasure washed over you, spilling from you like a geyser. You screamed incoherently, high on delight, high on release she'd given you. Her name sneaked in-between the screams, a joy, a gratitude. Rowena relished in it, soaking up the compliment like a sponge. She slurped up all your juices, licked your pussy clean and thorough, then laid back down beside you. Her lips found yours in a sweet kiss, another exchange of fluids, a gift of taste.

"God," you breathed. "Oh, god." You collapsed on her, head resting on her chest. Her heart beat steadily against your ear, a soft, soothing melody. "That was…"

"Wonderful?" she prompted.

"Fucking wonderful," you corrected.

"Even better." A small chuckle, then her face grew serious. "How are you feeling, love?"

"I'm tired," you replied. Tired and spent and completely and utterly exhausted.

Rowena gave a nod of understanding. "Why don't you go to sleep? You've worked so hard. You deserve a rest."

"I can sleep here?" you asked, shocked.

"Why of course! Did you think I was going to kick you out?"

You didn't dare say that was exactly what you thought. That, now that she'd had her fun, she would throw you out on the streets like trash and order you to keep what happened tonight to yourself. It wasn't like you had anyone to tell. Who would believe a fan claiming she'd slept with her favorite celebrity? You would become a laughingstock, just another in a long line of fangirls making things up for attention.

"You're free to spend the night," Rowena said seriously. "My flight is tomorrow afternoon. If you'd like, we could have breakfast together."

"I'd like that," you said. What better way to spend a Sunday morning than having breakfast with your crush? "Rowena?"

"Hm?"

"Is tonight gonna have to be a secret?"

"Do you want it to be?"

You thought it through. You would love for the world to know you had sex with Rowena MacLeod, something so many fans wanted and would never get. People would be awed and mesmerized and…

And jealous.

And jealousy led to hate. Which led to harassment and insults.

You could already picture the words, ugly, accusatory, malicious, peering at you from the screen, plastered under every post you'd ever published, your every social media profile filled with nothing but nasty spam and hate mail.

_Slut. Whore. Shameless. Gross. Disgusting._

You couldn't subject yourself to that. Not willingly. Not if there was a way to avoid it.

"Yes," you said. "I'm not ashamed of you, not at all, I just—"

She interrupted your rambling. "I know. The internet can be a cruel place."

"It can."

"Thank you for tonight," she suddenly said.

You stared at her, surprised. "I should be thanking _you."_

"Why, you're very welcome, darling," she said with a giggle. It was adorable. "Would you like to meet again?"

More surprise. The woman was intent on giving you a heart attack. "You wanna see me again?"

"Aye. May I contact you if I happen to be in town?"

"Of course!" you fired rapidly.

"Excellent. Maybe next time we can have dinner together. Make it proper."

"I'd like that," you said. You would like that very much.

She kissed your temple, a soft brush of lips over skin. "Sleep tight, my darling."

"Will you stay with me?" you asked.

"Of course. I'm not going anywhere."

She wrapped her arms around you, held you to her. You closed your eyes, relaxing in her embrace, bathing in the soothing warmth of her body pressed against you. Darkness took you over in a manner of minutes, welcome, needed. Just like reality, your dreams consisted of Rowena holding you, kissing you, talking sweetly to you. All the while, the soft lull of her heartbeat thundered in the background. You were at peace, at home, and you wanted to stay here forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.


End file.
